The Foreign Affair
by awilla the hun
Summary: Introducing Master Bumble Streng, Lawyer; some Diverse Gentlemen of the City of Feinster; and Clarissa Dalton, of the City of New York. A real world crossover fic with a twist. Expect weirdness. And please read and review!


Lawyers. Poor souls. They never really do get a good rap in fantasy (or, come to think of it, they never get a good rap anywhere.) They are certainly never mentioned in Eragon; they make up precisely none of the characters, and I believe that they are never even mentioned (even by Jeod, businessman as he is.) As a result of my whacky desire to explore the dark, bureaucratic, middle class parts of Alagesia (begun with my thoroughly respectable cast in Dragon's End, and by using Jeod as a main character), I will now use just such an individual with which to write my story. Oh, the fun we'll have! And stop whinging over there. I have no plan for this fic (save for using a detestable main character that isn't a dark, brooding anti hero), but who cares…

Once upon a time there was a society of lawyers. They met on an annual basis, and read long, tedious, worthy essays to each other concerning law on matters temporal, spiritual and magical. Our own story concerns this society and one of its members; and will, with good fortune, prove to be of interest.

"I, sah," said Bumble Streng, "am the Law's most providential Iron Hand and Will!"

The mirror gazed at him absently.

"Very impressive, sir," said his clerk.

"That was very kind of you, my very good clerical gentleman," said the said Mister Streng. He took a look around the dingy office in Feinster- a most Respectable Location, as he often informed anyone who would take notice- before retaining his posture before the mirror again.

There was something amazing, the clerk thought to himself, about watching his master practicing his speeches. Master Bumble Streng would stride purposefully forwards towards the mirror on his stout little legs. He would then take a pause for a few moments, and (just as the clerk was beginning to think that he would have given up this time round), would suddenly spring into life. His whole body would redden into a previously unforeseen shade of puce. He would quiver uncontrollably. The fish like mouth would jolt into an authoritative sneer. The watery eyes would burst forth at the audience, and (before the client, jury or judge could quite retain their composure) the entire creaking edifice would begin to speak.

"I, sahs, madams and honourable judges," said Master Streng in a voice that croaked like thunder, "am the law's Iron Hand! I have defended no less than, and you may well sneer and stare, sahs, Mesdames, and honourable judges, were it not the full truth, but I have defended no less than nine clients in the dark and misty shadows of the past!" He rose himself up dramatically to the mirror. "I was, of course, helped by my marvellous clerk, Apprentice Segendum," he said, adopting a form of genial simper, "who (save for regrettable difficulties with his handwriting, which I am doing my utmost in improving, with most ingenious exercises of my own devising), was useful in the most numerous and diverse ways. And now, sahs, madams, and judges, I present my case."

The clerk's name (which was in fact Segundus, and who had no calligraphic problems of any description) made a cough.

"Who, sah," said the self professed iron hand of the law, "is that?"

"It is I, Master," said the clerk. "It is just your clerk, sir, with the suggestion that you may have to remove some of the first section."

"The," said Bumble Streng, "first section?"

"Yes, Master. It may be slightly too… lengthy."

Streng made a genial simper, and bent to the level of his seated clerk (which required little effort on the part of our ingenious lawyer.) "Ah," said he. "I see now. I see very clearly."

Segundus sighed to himself.

"You see," said Master Streng, "I am not a believer in the… conventiononal way of speech writing, sah. I aim for a form of grandeur, of epicness, that is quite beyond such mere concepts as brevity and style. When I make a speech, sah, I want the audience to have a clear knowledge of the _nature_ and _aspect_ of the speaker and his apprentice. Yes, it is always fine for one to have knowledge of the_ nature_ and _aspect_ if one is to understand precisely what is being said, and so as the grandeur and importance of the stakes are clearly perceived. It was the old way, sah, and I am an old fashioned man who seeks justice, rather than such meagre things as wealth from my clients."

It can be observed that, whatever his strengths of nature and aspect, that Master Streng was not a gentleman entirely without a strain of vanity.

And, as if in agreement, the bell rang.

"I shall fetch that, master," said Segundus.

"And I," said Streng, "shall continue my practices."

With a crisp "_hem hem", _he made good on his word. His firmest credentials as the iron hand of the law were soon to be heard throughout the building, his stentorian cries drowning out the crackling fire in the building's grate.

And even, it turned out, the quiet cough of Segundus in the corner of the room.

"Master," Segundus began.

"And furthermore," Streng said, voice working up to a crescendo, "I shall endeavour in a most hard manner, with the utmost tirelessness, as one should work in these dark times, in order to-"

"Master," said Segundus again, "if you would excuse me for a moment."

"I will do so," said Streng, in a most self satisfied sort of manner; his practice had gone well, it seemed.

"Master, there are two persons waiting in the reception room. They both have a desire to speak to you."

"Oh?" Streng was already reaching for his cane; a long, black one, with a shining silver knob on top. "What manner of persons?"

"One of them, I believe, is Mister Whymper, sir; our scholar."

"One should always be knowledgeable of one's associates, and I am no exception, apprentice."

"Assuredly not, Master."

"And the second person?" Streng asked, moving towards the office door.

"It is a woman, Master."

"A woman? We do not have any female clients, I believe."

"Indeed we do not, Master."

"It is good to learn new experiences, apprentice." And with that, Master Streng boldly set forth into an extremely interesting sequence of events, which would try all of the aforesaid persons greatly.

But first, what of the aforesaid persons? For, it seems, Streng has received a very great proportion of all the description and action in the narrative; and, whilst he is a most able and spirited gentleman, his lion's share of these is entirely undeserved. Thus, the balance is soon to be corrected; and I shall begin as soon as Master Bumble Streng, and Apprentice Wilkman Segundus succeed in clambering down the four rickety flights of stairs, and hopping the consistently faulty step, to the reception area at the bottom floor of the building.

They will, doubtless, first set eyes upon the great chandelier hanging down from the ceiling of the room (which is slightly cobwebbed, but otherwise managing to glow merrily.) The reception area is cluttered; two hard bench seats take up much of the floor space, and busts of prominent Men of the Age take up almost everywhere else (busts of figures such as Galbatorix, Morzan and Eragon the First have a certain prominence in these.) But, other than these, the room is extremely barren. There is no colour, save for the miserably small fire in the grate (for, it seems, Bumble Streng was a gentleman who preferred cold air when talking to his clients, and warm air when talking to his clerk.) No tapestries adorn the walls, and the paint is sober in its non existence.

But, in many regards, the lack of colour is made up for by both of the persons seated within it. The first is, of course, Mister Whymper, who bore his name reluctantly (for he was of a most austere, upright of natures.) His skin was yellow (for, as a scholar, he spent precious little time outside libraries- which isn't to say that he relished such places), and he had thinning, red hair (which prevented him entirely from being a truly handsome gentleman.) The most prominent feature of his face was a great, beaklike nose, down which he was given to providing fierce, penetrating glares at everyone he met. He did so as he rose, even now, to Apprentice Segundus (who, as was his wont upon meeting Whymper, marvelled at how it was possible to be looked down the nose at from a man only four feet in height.)

And as for the woman (about whom Master Streng expressed so much surprise)- where is one to begin? She is blonde, oddly tall, strangely clean skinned (for, in the pre Roranic years, the Empire was never a place of great health or cleanliness, and it has never shown much improvement), and possessed of a thoroughly morose expression (which occasionally flickered to anger.) She did not rise to meet either of our legal gentlemen (which may be taken how the reader wishes.)

"How may I help you today?" asked Streng. "I am quite sure that my man, Secundum, can provide some refreshments, before business can be attended to."

"I want to know what the hell's going on," said the woman.

"I do beg your pardon, ma'm; I do try to be a courteous gentleman," said Streng. "Your servant, ma'm." He bowed.

It could be observed that Whymper made a wry smile at the gesture.

"Not that. I don't know what's going on," said the woman, "as in 'why the hell am I trapped here in the middle of a bizarre medieval re enactment?'"

"Well, ma'm," said Whymper, "I am quite sure that it would be far easier to comprehend if _you_ were to behave with courtesy, if _I _was to explain the details of the situation to Master Streng, and if _we _were to have some tea inside us. And good afternoon to you, sir." (This last line was directed to Streng.)

"But-" the woman began.

"Ma'm," said Whymper, "without even the knowledge of your name, and your own knowledge of ours, we are doubtless lacking in the ability to resolve your problem. We are also lacking in courtesy."

The woman (who, upon closer inspection, was slightly before 'woman' in stage of life-an adolescent would be more accurate) seemed to subside. She even thanked Segundus for the tea.

"I, ma'm," said Master Streng, "am Master Bumble Streng."

"Really?" this was said in a sarcastic tone.

Master Streng nodded. "I am a lawyer," he added, "of Feinster. It is a fine city, is it not? And may I present my apprentice and clerk, Wikes Segunduck?"

"You may, Master," said Wilkman Segundum.

"And I, ma'm, as I have already told you, am honoured by the name of Johan Whymper, also of Feinster" said Whymper (with the disgusted look he associated with his name.) "I research magical, temporal, and spiritual matters for Master Streng. You may be sure that my name is not 'kidnapper', 'criminal scumbag', or 'bastard'. Now, I desire the advantage of your own name."

The woman shrugged. "I'm Clarissa Dalton of New York," she said (in an oddly nasal accent.) "And you guys probably aren't real."

Whymper (who feared for the succinctness of the conversation if Streng was to latch onto such an indistinct locale as this) once again protested his ignorance of the glittering city of New York.

In passing, and with all due respect, Segundum made the sympathetic remark that she must be a long way from home.

"You have no idea," she said. "You have absolutely no freaking idea!"

Then she burst into tears.

"You see," said Whymper above the noise, "she has been telling me a very strange tale."

"That," said Bumble Streng, "requires no great leap of deduction."

"A tale of going on an organised hiking expedition, Streng. A tale of falling down a rabbit hole. A tale of awakening in a back alley, quite remote from her own home country. And a tale of arriving in the first welcoming door that she encountered. My door, Streng! My door!"

The thought of finding the door of Johan Whymper to be welcoming was, it could be seen, bizarre in the extreme.

"And she was first of the belief that I kidnapped her, or that I was going to use her ill, or that I was queer in some other indefinable way."

"You're quite safe here, ma'm," said Streng. "For I am the iron hand of the law!"

Miss Dalton wept all the harder.

"I have brought her here," Whymper shouted, "because I have no desire to be branded any of these things by the law. Is her shouting such accusations as these in public proof of my non existent guilt? Is your defence not guaranteed? Is it possible that insanity is a defence; she has told of some very strange things in this… New York place. Or is it possible that I could accuse her of witchery?"

"Witchery?" Streng asked, paling visibly.

"Unlicensed witchery, sir! There's a box in her pack that omits some sort of wailing noise. She seems to like it well enough, but it's extremely unsettling." Whymper now reached under the bench. "I have it here, Streng. As evidence, if nothing else."

But, despite such enticements as these, Bumble Streng did not see a great and terrible witch before him. Neither did his eyes linger on some great criminal, or a framer of crimes. He only saw a pale, frightened girl (albeit oddly dressed; she appeared to be in wide leggings, poor thing), with reddened eyes and face, who was a very great distance from her home. He recalled himself how, at an admittedly younger age, he had wept at the draft filled institute where he had been taught law, and how he had thought and said far worse things about his tutors.

"Can you not see, Whymper, that this woman needs rest?" he said. "Do you have a heart of stone?"

Mister Whymper protested angrily that he had no such thing; indeed, that he had every cause for anger or outrage at the accusations made against him.

"Come come, sah; there is no need for anger or bluster. I shall take Miss Dalton away from here."

Miss Dalton (who had ended her little fit of the vapours) made a mild protest at this.

"My humble dwelling, ma'm, whilst extremely humble, is very much more comfortable than my offices. And I am quite proficient at my practices with regards to the Trythers family." (Who were his current clients.) Streng rose, grabbed his cane, and offered his arms for Segundus to drape his cape over. "It will be of no impediment to either of us. Good day, Apprentice Segundus; I will trust you to clear up."

And with that, he stepped out into the weakening afternoon sun, with Dalton in reluctant tow, and the next chapter sweeping down upon them.

**Well, what do you think? I have a vague sort of plan for them all now! What fun! Please review…**


End file.
